


it's the little things that break you

by newisalwaysbetter



Category: ER (TV 1994)
Genre: Guns mention, Kissing, Luka POV, M/M, Panic Attacks, another of these two in africa, but no worse than canon, but they do here, cursing, kisses do not solve panic attacks, luka is a mild dick, rated for language, the author does not recommend, these two make bad choices, without verbal consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:34:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21654589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newisalwaysbetter/pseuds/newisalwaysbetter
Summary: Luka is a doctor. When it comes to people he can't live without, he is also a dumbass.
Relationships: John Carter/Luka Kovač
Kudos: 15





	it's the little things that break you

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for kissing without verbal consent, unrealistic kissing to "solve" a panic attack (by a doctor, no less!), and mentions of guns and death.

Luka had thought himself used to the damp jungle air, at his point. It can be comforting, in a way, like a warm blanket constantly trying to drag him into sleep.

But in moments of panic, as now, the air is like a waterboard, stifling the breath in his throat.

Not that the man he’s half-dragging behind him makes things any easier. Luka gasps furiously through his teeth, and glances back. Pain and frustration tug at his heart; John Carter, staggering along behind him, has duller eyes than he should in this, or any, situation. Carter’s no slouch, but his legs just aren’t quite as long, and there’s no denying he’s been more out of it than not, these days. Luka doesn’t like it. It makes him worry. 

He’s still deciding whether he wants to kiss some sense back into those far-too-dull eyes, or…or something equally persuasive.

Gunshots rip through the jungle behind them, shattering the moment. _Focus, Kovać._ He gives a vicious yank. “Come on!”

It’s a bit of a useless gesture, seeing as they’ve each got a hand fisted in each other’s shirtsleeve, and Luka doesn’t think he could go any faster if he tried. The bare nutrition, the sleeplessness, and the exhaustion of the past few weeks have taken their toll on them both.

Still, he instantly regrets the gesture when Carter stumbles forward and goes down, dragging Luka’s full weight with him.

They sprawl across the jungle floor in a tangle of limbs. Carter, beneath him, has his mouth open against Luka’s damp shirt. His muffled howl is barely audible.

“What’s wrong?” Luka hisses. He half wants to scan every inch of Carter for injury, and is half terrified to do so. With all the dispassion he can muster, Luka looks him up and down. There’s nothing.

“M-my…fuck.” Carter’s brown eyes are wide and wracked. He covers his mouth with a forearm to hide his whimper.

The sight of him already knaws at Luka’s heart, but swallowing down the affectionate urge is painfully easy. 

He leans close over Carter again. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. ‘M fine.” But Carter has moved his arm to cover his leaking eyes, and his voice rings hollow. “I–I–I–” He pants with every attempt to speak.

“You’re not _fine;_ listen to yourself!”

“No, I can stand. I.” Carter draws a shuddering breath, and for a moment it seems he might pull himself together.

Then his face crumples, and he buries it in his hands.

Luka sighs, in helpless frustration. It’s not that he doesn’t understand; he wants to break down most days himself.

(And if he’s being honest, leaving his painful attraction to John Carter behind has been half the reason to go, and then the man had just _had_ to come here, and Luka spends most nights getting drunk–or drunker than he had, anyway.)

Footsteps fill the air. The soldiers are returning.

“Pull yourself together,” Luka implores him in a hiss. They’re well-concealed here in the undergrowth, but perhaps not for long. “Carter…”

“I can’t,” he gasps, “Sorry–I can’t–I can’t–”

He’s already kneeling astride Carter’s lap. Luka ducks low, letting their chests brush together, and cups Carter’s face into a tender kiss.

It’s been a long while since he’s kissed a man, but there are some things you don’t forget. Using his greater height to tilt Carter’s head back a fraction, Luka slides his tongue along the seam of Carter’s mouth, and feels Carter go limp beneath him.

(No one can say his skills have gotten rusty.)

“There you go,” Luka breathes huskily against Carter’s mouth. He ought to pull away now, but Carter’s hands are skimming tentatively over his throat, and he can’t help thumbing Carter’s bottom lip in question. 

Now that he has what he’s wanted so long, he’s not ready to let it go.

In answer, Carter wraps one firm hand around the nape of Luka’s neck, and and pulls him back in.

This time it’s Luka’s turn to melt. It’s soft and messy and promising, and Luka’s brain is producing a long string of expletives. A white-bread American rich kid should not be able to undo him like this, particularly not one he’s wanted for the better part of a year, and up to this point has been certain hasn’t wanted him. 

But Carter is, as always, compassionate, and methodically takes him apart, going deep.

They break apart, panting tightly. Luka looks down at Carter’s wet, flashing eyes. He doesn’t want to hear whatever words come between them next, so instead, he kisses the tears from Carter’s eyelids. Carter’s lashes flutter shut against his lips.

Slowly, they come back to themselves. Luka waits. The silence stretches on, a moment too long. For a moment, they’re gazing at each other’s mouths, and Luka’s thinking about kissing him again.

Then Carter pats Luka’s lower back, and the moment shatters.

He’s still straddling Carter’s lap. His hips might even be moving a bit.

It’s not his first time wanting someone who hasn’t wanted him back. But this is, by far, the worst.

Luka smiles without laughter, and avoiding his gaze, climbs off of Carter’s lap. His voice is hoarse when he swipes a hand over his mouth. It almost hurts to say the words. “They’ll be coming back. We’ve got to go.”

Carter gapes. “That’s it?”

_So long as you don’t want me._ “We have to find the others, don’t we?” Luka speaks gruffly, keeping his eyes on the jungle as Carter struggles to his feet. “Come on.”

On long legs, he nearly leaves Carter behind as he sets off down the rough trail. Carter is calling his name, but he can’t turn back, or he might lose the last of his control.

“You know I’ve seen you pull this crap before, right?” Luka exhales heavily and rolls his eyes as Carter catches him roughly by the shoulder. “Somehow I thought things might be different with me. Guess I was wrong there…but what I still don’t get…” He’s shaking his head. He looks angry, and Luka’s heart aches. “What the _hell_ was that?”

_You idiot; if you don’t know…_

A hundred futures hang in the balance, and are already lost. He needs to say something. He wants to say everything. For a second, Luka indulges himself in an impossibility: a shared bed, a boyish laugh, a grinning kiss.

Then he lets it go.

“CPR,” he growls, and pushes past Carter, walking away from the dismay of the man who will never want him the same.


End file.
